Sticks and Stones
by rhoddlet
Summary: Bruce definitely has a taste for human flesh.


Not a wholesome story. Brucie is not a happy, healthy boy. Read this story how you will, but do not read if you are morally tender or are offended by sexual acts involving people who may be under the age of consent. Don't read if you're easily squicked; don't read if you're easily offended.  
  
You have been warned.  
  
*  
  
If Bruce Wayne were a smart man, he'd wonder where the sad-eyed little boy he took in went, but then he's Bruce Wayne. He knows understands the tricky business of being human about as much as, oh say, that rock over there -- possibly less. All Bruce Wayne knows how to do with rocks is throw them; throw them hard enough and you can break glass, wood, human flesh.  
  
Bruce definitely has a taste for human flesh. Take this string of brunette's he's been dating -- they stretch back to when he was a teenager at chaperoned dance parties, and he'd fuck them in their frilled organza dresses. Servant's hallway, where they'd wrap their powdered, gloved arms around his neck, and he'd pull the dress up to the pink ribbon around their waist and dandle them on his cock much the same way a father would bounce a kid on their knee. One, two, three, and the girl would run off, pink-faced and blushing.  
  
This one's much the same. Fashion's are different -- slinky and black is very much in fashion now, and she's a blonde to the world, but he knows her from when she was a brunette and they went to dance class together. She's dyed her hair and lost weight, but it's the same whether he plows her in the cloak room with her biting her lip to keep the coat check clerks from hearing or whether he does her on the engine and sun-hot hood of his new convertible. She's moaning and yelling her head off, loud enough to be heard back on the road, and when they're done, Bruce sees that there are little streaks of vaginal fluid half-dried on the hood of his car. He'll have to remember to wash those off before Alfred sees them, and he does, licking a corner of his handkerchief and half-rubbing, half-wiping them while Jeanne smoothes her skirt down around those long golden legs and puts her movie-star glasses on.  
  
They've come back in fashion this year, and Bruce thinks they look frankly hideous on her. It doesn't go with the hair-cut, or her face, but he doesn't say anything to her until they're in front of her hotel. He hands her the bouquet of heat-wilted orchids and says, "I liked your hair better when it was brown and longer."  
  
She laughs and hits him on one rock-like shoulder. "Oh, Bruce. You're such a silly, sweet boy," she says and runs away, looking back over her shoulder to wave and smile at him.  
  
Bruce doesn't have an enormous cock, but it's the only part of him that isn't big -- the rest of him is huge. Granite shoulders, marble jaw, hands like fists. He's plenty big enough to take those tiny society girls and fuck them till they're gasping and orgasmed-out, but Dick's getting substantially bigger these days.  
  
Not that he's ever touched Dick like that of course.  
  
But Dick's definitely getting taller. Darker. Alfred reported, one morning, while the coffee was cooling and Bruce was getting impatient to start his breakfast, that Master Dick had taken up shaving.  
  
Broader in the shoulders. Thicker. Male gymnasts do, you know, and Dick does that for the school team. Plays football, too, but the pommel horse is his event, and when Bruce gets home, he finds Dick in the gym, showing off for some girl he's brought home. Long sandy-brown hair and leggy, almost as tall as Dick, wearing a pretty peach-colored dress, knee-length and with strappy sandals. It's hard to tell under the harsh gym lighting, but she looks like she's tan, too.  
  
She smiles at him, and Dick introduces them. "Bruce, meet Denise, Denise Olympia. She's moving from Metropolis and might be a junior next year."  
  
Dick'll be sixteen this summer. Will start his sophomore year at school in September, and just cut his hair very short. Buzz-cut, almost, and it makes him look ridiculous because he just doesn't have the features for it. Also dark brown -- a little orangey in this funny lighting, but down at the roots, where the sweat glistens, it's almost black.  
  
Bruce liked it a lot more when it wasn't so short that he could see Dick's scalp underneath, pale and soft and white.  
  
He was furious with Dick when he cut his hair that short. Couldn't understand why a boy with a perfectly good head of hair would do that, especially when he found out how much it cost.  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wayne," Denise says and shakes Bruce's hand.  
  
Bruce asks Denise if she'd like to stay for dinner, but Denise smiles and says she ought to be getting back to her mother since they're leaving tomorrow to go back to Metropolis.  
  
"I'll drive you back," Dick says, eagerly, tossing his towel on the floor.  
  
"Dick, you can't drive at night yet. Gotham's new learner permit system, you know," Bruce says, smiling at Denise who smiles straight back. She has pretty, even teeth and an oddly-familiar upturned nose; he pretends not to hear Dick snarl to now one in particular, and Denise pretends not to either. "You're not allowed to drive at night until you're sixteen and a half so Dick has a couple months to go. I'll drive you back, Ms. Olympia."  
  
"Thanks, Bruce," she says and flashes him those teeth again. "I'll go get my jacket."  
  
When she's turned, Dick snorts and throws his wet towel to the ground with an audible noise. "Hey, Bruce, you sick bastard." he says, almost shaking with anger. "Thanks for stealing my date. It was probably a good idea -- it's probably not very illegal to have sex with them if you're old enough to be their *father.*"  
  
Bruce doesn't say anything. Makes sure his eyes are fixed on that slim figure coming towards him with a soft smile.  
  
He takes the scenic route back to the city. A little after they pass the lighthouse but before they get to Smuggler's Cove, she puts her hand on his thigh and asks him if they could go for a walk. "It's so pretty here," she says, as he pulls onto the shoulder and before he leans over and kisses her, full on the mouth, running his tongue along those tender lips.  
  
"You're very pretty," he says and nuzzles the side of her neck. He unfastens his seatbelt, then hers and runs his thumb along hip, feels the flesh underneath her thin dress, then presses his face against her hair. "Your hair's so pretty -- it's almost down your back, so nice and long."  
  
"Silly Mr. Wayne," she laughs and pulls him to her, arms as cool as moonlight. "Silly Mr. Wayne."  
  
*  
  
I met a gypsy and she hipped me to some life game  
  
To stimulate then activate the left and right brain  
  
Said baby boy you only funky as your last cut  
  
You focus on the past your ass'll be a has what  
  
Rosa Parks. Outkast.  
  
*  
  
Reviews are a slash writer's best friend. 


End file.
